I See Fire
by neonferriswheels
Summary: While attending a Midsummer's Eve festival with Denmark and Iceland, a new bonfire tradition has Norway remembering parts of his past that were best left buried. Warning: Depiction of violence


Author Note:

Wrote this little fic after being greatly inspired by the two head canons I had about both the Anko family celebrating Midsummer's Eve and of Norway getting swept up in the witch trials in Norway during the 15th century.

I'm going with the general consensus that nations refer to each other by their country names and only go by their human names when in the proximity of humans or speaking with humans. That being said, I'm going to be using the most commonly accepted fanon names. Even though in this story only Norway is referred to by his human name, I've included all of their names here.

Norway: Lukas Sørensen

Iceland: Emil Steilsson

Denmark: Matthias Andersen

 _I See Fire_

 **June 23, 1923**

Norway glanced back at his little brother as Denmark called for him to hurry up. Iceland lagged behind the two a bit, pointedly looking at the ground and munching away on the apple pastry he had swiped before the three left the house. His purple eyes flicked up to meet Norway's and Denmark's for a moment before looking back down. The young island nation was at that age where he generally didn't want to be seen in public with his caretakers and when the sweet innocence of childhood was being swept up into the beginnings of adolescence.

"C'mon Ice, we'll miss the lighting of the bonfire," the Dane gestured frantically to the teen behind him. "I know you both don't care about the speeches, so we came late. We won't get a good spot, come on!" Denmark apparently felt that his explanation was motivation enough for the others as he broke away and charged up and over the dunes, skidding a little in the sand on the other side.

Norway drifted back to keep stride with Iceland. He had traveled from Oslo the previous day in order to spend Midsummer's Eve with Iceland specifically. Not that watching Denmark make a fool of himself wasn't reason enough to come. But ever since he had declared his own independence and broke away from Denmark, Norway didn't see much of Iceland who had been left behind.

"I'm getting sand in my socks," Iceland complained, shaking each foot like a cat that had gotten its paws wet.

"Then take them off," Norway suggested, his tone utterly blasé. "Denmark did."

"No. Then I'd have to carry my shoes too."

Norway shrugged and walked across the sand, ignoring the way it spilled into his own shoes. Behind him, Iceland stumbled in his sunken footsteps grumbling the entire time. Vaguely Norway wondered what had happened that made his little brother so disgruntled all the time.

The two crested the dunes to see the sea spread out before them like a dark mirror reflecting the stars in the night sky above. On the beach was a large group of people, gathered around a large wooden pile. Many were sitting on blankets and in groups of families and friends. Children raced back and forth from the surf shrieking with laughter. Some public official was finishing his speech to polite applause. Norway scanned the crowd and saw Denmark waving wildly to the both of them. He took the lead with Iceland behind him as he picked his way across the sand and around people to meet up with Denmark.

"We made it in time." Denmark happily announced, looking forward to the burn pile, which was in the process of being lit to loud cheers and applause. Norway gazed at the growing fire and felt a familiar sense of belonging. Even Iceland was looking up from his treat to watch the bonfire grow.

"It's been too long since we celebrated this together…" Norway murmured to no one in particular.

Denmark heard and grinned, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "You're welcome over anytime Norge, you know that."

"It's a matter of principle that I don't come over often," Norway replied without missing a beat. He'd worked too hard for independence even if the separation had left him disoriented, lost, and a bit lonely at first.

"Then don't come as Norway the Country," Denmark said without looking away from the fire. "Come as Norway, my friend." Norway didn't have a retort for that.

"They're singing _Vi elsker vort land_ ," Iceland interrupted their conversation. "I still don't really know the words, but they're singing it."

"You've been a part of my house for how long and you still don't know them?" Denmark pretended to look hurt, which Iceland ignored. He then proceeded to join in with his countrymen in singing the hymn.

Norway rolled his eyes at both of their antics before focusing back on the fire. He frowned a little and squinted at the flames. There was a small doll of some sort perched at the top of the pile, the flames licking at its white cloth shift. It was made of straw and sticks; an effigy. That was new. Normally the fire burned without any ornamentation on top. And he didn't think things were politically sour enough at Denmark's house to warrant a symbolic burning of someone.

In front of him a group of children, no more than ten years old, excitedly pointed at the doll. "Look!" One of the children cried, tugging on her mother's skirt. "The witch is burning!" At her comment the rest of the kids hopped up and began to cheer. It spread like a sickness through the crowd. The hymn, now finished, was replaced with the joyful chants of "Burn the witch! Burn the witch!" It was mostly children, with some parents gently encouraging their own sons and daughters to join in.

The fire crept up the little witch doll, to the sound of children crying 'hurray!' Norway felt whatever expression he had been wearing replaced with one of dread. He felt sick as he watched the flames creep up the fabric to quickly envelop the doll entirely. The fire crackled and popped as the straw was quickly burned. All other sounds narrowed down to that of the fire and the playful jeering of the people around him. Norway blinked and suddenly he wasn't on a beach in Denmark; he was back home and the time wasn't 1923, it was much, much earlier.

 **February, 1663.**

Norway pressed his letter sealer into the hot wax on the back of the envelope, sealing the letter within shut. He flipped the letter over and wrote in his distinctive scrawl:

 _Til Danmark_

 _Haster_

He opened his window, letting in the biting winter air and a swirl of snow, and handed the letter over to a winged faerie waiting outside."Please make sure this gets to him as soon as possible. There isn't much time left." Norway pressed the envelope into her tiny hands, hoping to get across how vital it was that she got the letter to Denmark as quickly as she could. The little faerie nodded her head before flying quickly off and vanishing into the white of the snow.

Norway pulled the window shut and latched it. Normally he sent letters the usual way; through the postman. But recently he had been having a nagging sense that something terrible was going to happen soon and that the regular post would be too slow in getting his request to Denmark.

For a while now, Norway had noticed that the town had been giving him a wide berth and had been glancing suspiciously at him. He could hear them whispering under their breath to each other. It got worse when some shops refused to sell to him. The culmination of the town's suspicions was seemingly realized when a group of village children stumbled upon him having conference with a group of trolls. The children could not see the trolls, (Humans were beginning to see magical creatures less and less.) they just saw him talking to himself alone in the woods.

A week ago his fears came to fruition when at dusk the mystic woman who lived out at the edge of the town had been seized and dragged away. No one heard from her until it was announced three days ago that Margrethe Olhouser was charged with conducting witchcraft and was to be burned at the stake the following evening. Norway had been out shopping with Iceland. Immediately he had put down what he was planning on purchasing and hurried back home with his little brother in tow.

As he had watched the smoke curl up from the town over the trees from the comfort of his home, Norway knew that it wouldn't be long until they would be pounding on his door as a mob. He had glanced at his little brother, playing with the tin soldiers Denmark had given him, and knew that he had to beat the town to the punch. So he wrote the letter to Denmark. Norway wasn't really expecting the Dane to be able to make it in time to prevent whatever was to happen, he doubted that Denmark would be able to even if he did miraculously appear out of the mist. But that wasn't important. The important thing was keeping Iceland safe.

Now the letter was on its way and hopefully Denmark wouldn't be a fool and tuck the letter away for later as he was prone to do. Norway pushed away from the long, sturdy table that served as the dining room table, a work bench, and an office desk with a sigh. All that he could do now was play the waiting game.

A few days passed with no word from anyone. Denmark hadn't shown up on his porch, though Norway was expecting he was on his way. The town hadn't ripped his home apart and set it aflame. Iceland was napping and Norway himself was preparing to make dinner. The quiet that blanketed the house was shattered by the frantic tapping on his glass. Norway looked up from peeling potatoes to see a small elf desperately knocking on his window. He got up, his brow creasing with worry and unease beginning to curl in his gut.

"You have news," Norway said before the elf was even in the house.

The little creature removed his red cap and twisted it worriedly in his tiny hands. "I was sent to warn you, Norway. There are people coming up the trail to your house and they don't look happy. The priest is with them."

The nation sucked in a sharp breath and tried to smother the panic that threatened to take his mind. He succeeded fairly well, he felt, as he nodded. "Thank you. You get yourself to safety, little friend."

"What about you, Norway? We're worried!"

"I'll be fine. You all take care of yourselves."

"But what about Ice…?" The elf looked past Norway into the rest of the house, looking for the familiar little boy.

"I already worked out what to do with him. Now go, I have things I need to do." Norway shooed the elf back outside and shut and locked the window.

He moved quickly through the house, deciding to wake Iceland last. He dumped the potatoes he had managed to peel into the big iron pot and put it on the fire to cook. From the backyard he fetched a cord of wood to put next to the large fireplace. Dried fruit and fish and jars of pickled vegetables were pulled down and put on one of the lower shelves. The potatoes were taken off the fire and stored away in an earthenware crock and covered with a calico colored cloth. Norway stepped back and nodded. That should be enough to keep Iceland from going hungry until Denmark arrived.

Norway pulled open the large chest of drawers next to his bed and pulled out simple dark pants and one of his loose undershirts. Both were in sore need of patching and would do nicely to serve his needs. It wouldn't do to have his good clothes destroyed. He quickly changed into them and stashed his worn outfit back into the drawers. Turning to face the main body of the house, Norway tried to think of what else would be needed to help Iceland and keep him safe. His thoughts were interrupted by a pinprick of light out the front window bobbing slowly closer.

" _Fy faen…_ " Norway cursed under his breath and whipped back around, feeling desperation beginning to fuel his thoughts and actions. He took three long steps to go back into his bed room and knelt by the side of the large bed in there.

"Island..." He gently shook his younger brother's shoulder, stirring him from sleep. "Iceland, wake up. Please wake up."

Purple eyes slowly blinked open and squinted blearily up at Norway's worried face. "Wha…? Is it dinner time already?" He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with chubby, little fists. The little country had not yet hit his first growth spurt that normally accompanied economic development or a population explosion in a nation.

"No, I'm afraid not." Norway lifted Iceland out from under the heavy coverlet and blankets. "Now I need you to listen very carefully to me," he set the little boy on the wooden floor and wrapped one of the thick quilts around his small shoulders. "There are some scary people coming here to take me away. I don't want them to find you so I need you to hide here under the bed."

Norway knelt on the floor and opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and dug to the bottom, carefully lifting out his sword. "Take this and do not open the door for anyone. If anyone you do not know does get in, I want you to swing this as hard as you can at them. You can pretend you're Denmark, you've seen him use his sword."

The sword was passed to the little boy, who stared up at Norway, fear filling his eyes. " _Stóri bróðir_...?" He tried to press the sheathed blade back to his brother. "No, I don't want it. What's happening? Why do bad people want you?"

Norway swallowed thickly and put his hands on Iceland's shoulders. "Sometimes men can be cruel and sometimes they let fear get the best of them. It's not their fault. Not really. Now please listen to me and do as I say." Iceland shakily nodded his head, tears filling his eyes.

"Good boy," Norway offered his little brother a small smile and reached up to unfasten his hair pin, letting the pinned back hair fall into his face. He tucked some of Iceland's pale blonde hair back, slipped the Nordic Cross into it, and snapped it shut before leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. He murmured words Iceland couldn't make out against his hair before pulling back. "A spell to keep you safe." He felt his heart clench as he looked into Iceland's face and pulled the little boy into a tight hug. Another kiss was pressed to the side of his head. "And one for luck..."

Outside the house loud voices could be heard. "Now under the bed with you and remember what I told you," Norway released Iceland and stood.

" _Bróðir_..." Iceland sniffled and rubbed his eyes, watching Norway's retreating back. "Please come home safe..."

Norway pulled on a pair of worn, rabbit fur lined boots, a coat he didn't wear often, a scarf, and a pair of mittens, also lined with rabbit's fur. He took a deep breath and opened the front door, letting the frigid winter air into the house before he quickly shut it behind him, locking it. Despite how loud the voices of the town's people had seemed, they were still just at the gate to his property. Norway sat on the wooden bench Denmark had carved and waited.

"Lukas Sørensen!" The head of the crowd called to him as they grew close. "As the bailiwick of this village, I-"

"I know why you're here," Norway stood up, coming down the front steps to stand before the group. "You think I'm a witch. I'm sure those children who saw me a few weeks ago came tattling."

The bailiwick looked taken back, obviously expecting his criminal to put up more of a fight. He cleared his throat and attempted to take control of the situation again. "Ehrm, well, er, yes. We are. Lukas Sørensen, you are hereby accused of conducting illicit witchcraft and other dark magics which are an abomination to God. You are therefore under arrest and are to be taken to await trial."

Norway swallowed and nodded, looking back over his shoulder at his home one last time. He was sure Iceland had listened to him and was well hidden. But considering the town seemed to be unaware that he was there, his little brother would most probably be safe. He breathed in deeply and faced forward again. "Let's go." He let shackles be slapped on his wrists and be led off, back down the wooded path.

The trial passed in an anxious blur. Norway knew that everything being said was embellished to the point it was unbelievable or a complete lie. Unlike others who had been accused he kept relatively quiet, only speaking when prompted. His stomach was in knots. This trial was a farce.

"Mr. Sørensen, is it true that you were caught speaking to apparitions and spirits out in the woods?" The prosecutor asked, pacing back and forth in front of Norway at the bar.

Norway looked up towards the ceiling, weighing his options. He was sure that no matter what he said it would be twisted to look either like a lie or in favor of proving him guilty. Might as well tell the truth then and get on with this.

"They weren't spirits. It was a group of trolls." The crowd gasped, recoiling back. "I was aiding them in a land dispute they were having over the local pond." Norway glanced at the prosecutor, a wry smile stretching across his lips. "Normal people are unable to see trolls now. Only a special few can, which obviously you all are not."

The prosecutor glared at Norway, visibly trying to control his temper, as he looked to the sheaf of papers in his hands. "Is it also true that you seem to not have aged at all since coming here to this town ten years ago?"

Norway shrugged in response. "If you had the opportunity to stay youthful forever, would you not take it?" A few in the chamber chuckled nervously, unsure if he was joking or not.

"It seems you are unaware of the seriousness of these accusations, Mr. Sørensen," the prosecutor ground out between clenched teeth. "You are being accused of being a witch and performing unholy magic!"

"I know. But, I also know that no matter what I say that I'm going to be declared guilty. Because, to the court, the word of two young girls means more than one of a grown man."

"We saw him though!" One of the girls who had earlier been brought up as a witness cried, pointing at Norway. "We saw him talking to no one! And he was talking in a tongue we had never heard before!"

"It was Norse…" Norway grumbled under his breath to himself.

"What was that?" The prosecutor was practically at his throat.

"Nothing."

"And not just us!" The girl continued, "Anja Burke said she saw him performing magic on a flock of birds! They're probably his familiars!" Norway winced inwardly. That was when a flock of crows were getting at his garden and he was warding them off.

"Enough!" The judge pounded his gavel against the bar. "I have heard enough. I have heard enough evidence to come to my decision. Lukas Sørensen, it is the decision of this court that you are found guilty of performing witchcraft and being in league with the Devil himself. You are hereby sentenced to be executed by being burned at the stake until dead. May God have mercy on your soul." He slammed his gavel down, making the sentencing final.

Despite knowing what the outcome would be Norway felt his stomach drop out. He was led out of the court room and back to the tiny cell he had been kept in before the trial had begun. The jailer handling him was treating him as if he had the plague, as if witchcraft were contagious and could be spread through the skin. He was shoved back into the cell and the barred door clanged shut behind him.

The night passed too quickly for Norway's liking. Not that he spent it doing anything productive. He spent most of the early morning hours wondering what it was going to be like to be burned alive. He'd suffered fatal wounds before, especially during the many wars he found himself dragged into and his glory days as a Viking, but being burned was different. Burning would take a while and it would be excruciatingly painful all throughout. Norway wasn't sure if he would be able to suffer through it with dignity. He prayed that Iceland was still safe at home.

Before long, the sky was lightening and his jailer was back at Norway's cell, unlocking the door and shackling his wrists. He was led from the bailey into the town square where a pile of wood was assembled around a tall wooden pole. Norway could feel his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he was helped up the pile and tied to the pole. Vaguely he could hear the priest reading him his last rites as people gathered close with torches in hand.

 _I should make some sort of statement before I "die,"_ Norway supposed as he looked towards the sky and the snowcapped mountains looming in the distance. He calmed his shaking mind and body, opened his mouth, and sang loudly in a clear voice,

" _Deyr fé,  
deyja frændr,  
deyr sjalfr it Sama,  
en orðstírr  
deyr aldregi,  
hveim er sér góðan getr._

 _Deyr fé,  
deyja frændr,  
deyr sjalfr it sama,  
ek veit einn,  
at aldrei deyr:  
dómr um dauðan hvern."_

The town's people that had gathered to watch the execution gaped at Norway as he sang, his voice only trembling a little bit. There was a collective sense of awe that silenced the crowd, even after Norway had finished his song. Then slowly, the torches were dropped onto the dry kindling, which quickly burst into flames, and the people backed away to a safe distance.

Immediately Norway felt himself choking on the smoke that billowed up around him. He coughed, but that only succeeded in drawing more smoke into his lungs. His eyes burned and watered. Norway looked down and tried the pull himself up and away from the flames. Suddenly this didn't seem so easy anymore. It didn't seem like something he could merely endure. He was going to be in agony until the fire died down and god knew when that would be. Norway, for the first time since this whole ordeal had begun, felt terrified for himself.

The flames licked up the sides of the pile, kissing Norway's toes and making the nation cry out in pain. By now, through the clouds of smoke, he could see that fewer and fewer of the town's people were sticking around to watch until it was just him and the empty town square. It was then that he let himself scream his agony until he was cut off by a peal of harsh coughing. The smoke continued to burn his eyes and Norway could feel hot tears running down his cheeks. Oh god it was so painful, he had never felt anything so mind numbingly painful.

 _Please let it stop, please let it stop, please let it stop, please let it stop-_ Norway chanted over and over in his head like a religious mantra. _I'll do anything, just make it stop!_

Norway craned his neck up to stare at the pale blue sky, letting out a choked sob. It was so hot that he was sure the tears that were falling were immediately drying on his cheeks. He couldn't breathe and each breath that he did manage to draw in was searing and ended in him coughing until he was sure he would suffocate from that alone. The hissing and cracking of the fire was roaring in his ears and the last thing Norway saw before blacking out was tendrils of fire creeping up around him.

Iceland wasn't sure how long he stayed under the bed. It was at least a day. He knew that because he watched the light leave the room and grow dark only to grow light once more as the sun rose. He probably fell asleep at some point because when he opened his eyes again it was dark again.

He had heard the crowd take Norway away and then he was completely alone in a darkened, empty house. Iceland didn't budge from under the bed when the fire died out and the house grew cold. He simply pulled the quilt Norway had tucked around him tighter to his body. He didn't move even when his stomach growled hungrily and he was sure he had missed both dinner and breakfast. Mostly the little country dozed on and off, too scared to move from the nest he had made for himself under his and Norway's shared bed. The sword that his brother had forced upon him pressed comfortingly against his side. If someone did decide to break in to try to hurt him, he'd be ready.

It was after several days that someone did finally arrive at the house. Iceland was napping when he heard a loud knocking at the door. Startled, the nation jerked awake and smacked his head against the bottom of the bed frame. The knock sounded again and Iceland crept out from under the bed, sword unsheathed and in hand. The door was knocked upon for a third time before the door knob rattled and opened.

Iceland let out a battle shriek and blindly swung out the sword to whoever was coming in through the front door. The figure leapt to the side and easily avoided Iceland's slash. The momentum of Iceland's swing kept him going around until he tumbled to the floor. Immediately he scrambled back to his feet and hefted the blade back up.

"Woah, woah, woah! Iceland, it's me! Stop!"

At that voice, Iceland did screech to a halt and finally looked up to see who the intruder was. "Denmark?"

Denmark, now sure that Iceland wasn't going to go berserker on him, let himself into the foyer and knelt down to Iceland's level, opening up his arms. "Ah, hey kiddo."

Iceland felt himself be overcome with relief and his breath hitched as tears welled up in his eyes. The sword slipped from his hands, clattering to the floor as the little boy threw himself at the man in front of him. "D-D-Denmaaaark!" He began to wail as he clung to Denmark's coat.

"Yeah, it's me. Say, what are you doing waving a sword around like that anyway? Norge would have kittens if he saw you playing with that." Denmark looked over Iceland's head into the empty main room. The fire had long since died out and there was no other source of light save for the daylight spilling through the front door and windows. In fact, it didn't look like anyone was home other than Iceland. This in itself was worrying. Norway didn't like to leave Iceland by himself for extended periods of time. Denmark looked down into Iceland's teary face and felt his heart stop for a moment. Glinting in the little boy's hair was Norway's hair pin. As far as he knew, Norway never let anyone else wear it. "Icey…" he began; getting Iceland's attention once he had calmed down, fear beginning to curl in his own stomach. "You probably know better than me, but where exactly is Norway?"

Iceland sniffled loudly and wiped his running nose on his sleeve. "H-he said that some scary people were going to take him away and that I needed to stay here. I think I saw fire outside and I heard a lot of angry people. He gave me his sword and told me to not let anyone I didn't know in and to hit them with this if they did," his eyes began to well up with tears again. "Dan… what happened? Where's my _bróðir_...?"

Denmark was quiet for a moment, processing what Iceland had told him. From what the letter Norway had sent him implied and from what Iceland said, he was easily able to piece together what had probably happened. "Shit..."

"Dan?" Iceland peered worriedly up into Denmark's blue eyes, which were beginning to cloud with fear.

"C'mon, I think I know where he is." Denmark helped Iceland get on his boots, coat, mittens, scarf, and hat. Satisfied that the tiny country would be warm enough, Denmark picked up Iceland and began down the snowy path towards town.

The town was for the most part empty. It was a Sunday. Everyone was either at Church or taking a day of rest. Denmark made a beeline for the center of town; his boot falls sounding too loud on the cobblestones. As soon as the town square came into sight, the Dane stopped short, the pit of his stomach dropping out. He set down Iceland and dashed over towards the smoking remnants of what had obviously once been a great bonfire. Slowly he approached the charred remains of the pile and scanned for a humanoid figure. Sure enough he was able to spot one half buried under charcoal.

Denmark swallowed thickly and knelt down next to the person's form. The body was so badly burned that it was hard to make out who exactly he was looking at. "N-Norge…?" he whispered and he hoped to god that his words could be heard because he didn't trust his voice enough to be much louder. A painful sounding, wheezing squeak escaped what could barely be considered lips.

" _Åh gud_...!" Denmark felt himself go very pale and it took every ounce of will that he had to not be sick all over the street.

"Denmark?" Iceland called as he began to come towards him. "Did you find him?"

Denmark's head whipped back to look at the little boy as he approached a wide, vaguely fake looking, and cheery smile stretching across his face. "Heeeeey, Icey! Wanna do _Storebror Danmark_ a huuuge favor?"

Iceland stopped in his tracks and looked at Denmark inquisitively. "Okay... What?"

"I found Norge, but he's hurt pretty badly. Do you know how to get home on your own?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think you could run home and get some sheets ready and some water for me? I'm going to be a little while."

"But you found _Stóri bróðir_? Can I help him? I want to see him." Iceland took another step towards Denmark.

"No!" Denmark wasn't sorry for how harsh his voice came out. It made the other country stop short and give him a frightened look. He would take that if it would keep Iceland from seeing his brother like this. He wasn't sure what it would do to the little boy to see Norway this badly injured. "I want you to go home and do as I told you. Do you understand me?"

Iceland could feel his lower lip quibble some, but he shakily nodded. "Y-Yes..."

"Then get going. I'll be there soon." Denmark could hear Iceland begin to cry as he turned around and began to trudge back the way they came. Great. Fantastic. As if this day couldn't get any better. He would deal with it later. Right now getting Norway back home safely and without hurting him further was his priority.

Denmark took off his long coat and laid it out on the cobblestone street. "Hey, Norge. I'm going to try moving you now, okay? I'm not gonna lie and tell you it's not going to hurt. It probably is. A lot. And I'm really, really sorry about that." He only got an unintelligible rasping sputter in return and Denmark could have killed every person in this god forsaken town for that alone. He would never forgive them. He would never forgive those who harmed his family. Who harmed his loved ones.

He knelt on his haunches and began to slowly remove the charred pieces of wood that had slid down over Norway's body. Once he had cleared away as much as he dared, Denmark submerged his own arms into the charcoal and lifted them up under Norway's broken body. Each second that passed was unbearably slow as he carefully lifted up Norway and crab walked him backwards to lie out on his coat.

Laid out on Denmark's coat, the extent of the damage was apparent. Norway was raw and red and even blackened in some places. His beautiful platinum blonde hair had, for the most part, burned away. He had closed his eyes and his breath came in short, broken sounding pants. The chill winter breeze that brushed against him made him want to cry all over again it hurt so badly. Even the wool underneath him made him want to scream in pain. Every little jostle and movement felt like lightning racing up and down his limbs. He wished he could pass out again. Norway would take blissful oblivion over this living torture.

Denmark took a moment to compose himself before carefully wrapping Norway in his coat and gently picking him up to carry in his arms. As he walked back home he dared anyone to come out and get a good dose of his wrath, but he was not so lucky. Once he'd entered the snowy woods did he allow himself a glance down at the burden in his arms. "How you doing, Norge...?" Denmark hated how shaky and weak his voice sounded. He wasn't entirely expecting an answer from Norway either. Norway just wheezed weakly in response.

"That good, huh? Y-you look like a human sized charcoal brick..." Denmark laughed haltingly, feeling tears slip down his cheeks. "If you were feeling better I bet you'd smack me for that." He fell silent after that, now just staring straight ahead, the only sound now was that of the snow crunching under his boots.

"We're almost home," Denmark whispered once the house came into view. He allowed himself to pick up his pace to the front door. He kicked the front door, since he didn't want to jostle Norway too badly. "Ice, I'm back! Open the door!" There was a moment's hesitation before the door flew open.

"Norway?" Iceland asked, trying to peek into Denmark's coat before being nudged out of the way by the Dane.

"Did you do what I asked you to?" Denmark asked as he carefully laid Norway out on the bed, leaving his coat trapped under him.

"Yeah, here." Iceland fetched an armload of sheets from a chest next to the dresser. "I filled the bucket with water, but it's really cold." He hesitantly approached the bed. " _Stóri bróðir?"_

"I wouldn't Iceland," Denmark warned as he got the wooden bucket filled with water. "He's in really rough shape. "

Iceland peeked up over the bed and let out an audible yelp. He staggered back and scrambled away to where he could retch out into the snow in the front yard. He collapsed, panting and felt himself begin to cry all over again.

"I warned you, Ice." Denmark gently chided from inside before coming out to pick up Iceland and rubbed his back as he rocked him back and forth. "Hey, hey... you're all right."

"W-what happened to him!?" Iceland sobbed, burying his face in Denmark's shoulder.

"The mean people he mentioned before happened to him." Denmark murmured in response, his expression darkening with anger when Iceland wasn't looking. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself before addressing Iceland again. "So now it's up to us to help him get better."

"How long's that going to take?"

"I... don't know." In all honesty, Denmark didn't know. He'd never heard of a country being burned alive before and he wasn't sure how long their naturally accelerated healing abilities would take to get Norway half-way human again.

As it turned out it took a few weeks for Norway to recover. The first day was the worst. Denmark was forced to cut away the burned, dead skin to keep Norway's entire body from getting infected. He didn't have anything for Norway to numb the pain, so he gave him a wooden spoon to bite onto instead. When the shrieks of agony began, Denmark almost stopped and gave up then. But he forced himself to continue his work and imagined that each slice and cut was into the face of one of the bastards that did this to his Norge. Denmark knew Iceland had fled the house during the operation and was hiding out inside the woodshed; he was forced to coax the traumatized little boy out with sweets later that evening.

The rest of the week was only marginally better. Denmark had to change Norway's bandages every few hours and sponge him down with cool water. Norway burned with fever and when he was able to speak again, he was usually crying from the pain. He was unable to keep anything down other than a very watery soup and water.

Iceland had hovered helplessly by and often ran away and hid in the house until Denmark went and found him. At night, Denmark made the two of them a bed of blankets, furs, and pillows on the floor and was constantly bouncing back and forth to tend to Norway, who needed constant care, and Iceland, who would wake up crying with nightmares. Over the course of three weeks, Denmark estimated that he got around seventy-two hours of sleep.

By the end of the second week, they were able to see fresh, new pink skin appearing and Norway was able to speak full sentences again. By the end of the third week, Norway had recovered enough to hobble around the house for short periods of time and was able to eat solid foods again. By the end of the month he was almost completely recovered. Denmark could've cried for joy when Norway smacked him with a book for the "human charcoal" comment he'd made when he'd found him. The beginning of the fifth week, Denmark announced that both Norway and Iceland were to move back in with him where he could make damn sure that they would be safe.

Both Iceland and Norway were very cautious about interacting with magical creatures after that. Norway went in the middle of the night whenever he wanted to meet with the trolls or the elves. He took winding paths that only he had memorized to get to where he was going and would only go if he was sure he was alone. Otherwise the trolls and elves came to him at home and saved them both an exhausting trip.

Iceland spoke less and less frequently of any sort of mythical animal. It got to the point that he began denying seeing them at all, no matter how hard Norway tried to convince him otherwise. If Iceland caught Norway speaking with a troll or an elf or a nisse, he would give him the most perturbed look he could muster before continuing on his way. Each and every time that happened, Norway felt an ache in his heart that was now becoming much too familiar for his liking.

 **June 23, 1923**

Norway snapped himself out of his reverie and brought himself back to the present. The Midsummer's Eve bonfire was still going strong. The children were still cheering for the burning of the witch. Norway chanced a look back over his shoulder at Iceland. Apparently the younger nation had caught wind of what was happening and had gone very pale, still, and quiet. Norway glanced up at Denmark, who seemed blissfully unaware of the other two countries' discomfort.

Norway tugged at Denmark's sleeve, getting his attention. "Hm, what's up Norge?"

"I think we want to go home now." Norway quietly replied, glancing at the remains of the witch effigy before looking back at the haunted looking Iceland.

Denmark looked between the two countries and then back at the fire a few times before putting two and two together. "Oh shit...! Yeah, let's go." He began to lead the other two back home, skirting around clumps of people and sticking to the edges of the crowd. "I didn't even realize. Geez, I'm sorry Norge, Ice. That's..." Denmark looked back over his shoulder at the bonfire. "...That's new. They didn't used to do that and I don't know why they started now. I'm really sorry. If I'd known I would've never-"

"Stop apologizing." Iceland cut Denmark off. "It's really annoying."

"Next year we'll do the bonfire in my backyard." Denmark offered, trying to make amends. "With no witch addition. Promise."

"Next year we'll celebrate at my house." Norway decided. "Then we don't have to worry about it at all."

"Aw Norge, ya mean it?" Denmark swiveled to grasp both of Norway's hands in his own, the dopiest smile on his face.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I'll change my mind."

"I can't make any promises."

"You both drive me batty…" Iceland complained, heaving a sigh towards the night sky.

"You wouldn't have it any other way," Denmark laughed as he clapped a hand on the top of Iceland's head and slung his other arm around Norway's shoulders. Both looked pointedly away from the Dane and both allowed themselves a small, rare smile.

Author notes:

" _Vi elsker vort land"_ literally translates to "We Love Our Country" in Danish and is the traditional hymn sung either before or during the burning of the bonfire on Midsummer's Eve in Denmark.

" _Til Danmark Haster"_ translates to "To Denmark Urgent" in Norwegian.

" _Fy faen"_ can either translate to "Fucking hell" or "Dammit" in Norwegian. I had Norway use the latter connotation as I don't really see it in Norway's character to exclaim fucking hell.

" _Island"_ translates to "Iceland" in Norwegian and Danish.

" _Stóri bróðir"_ translates to "Big Brother" in Icelandic.

The song that Norway is singing as he is being burned are actually stanzas 76 and 77 from the Norse epic poem "Hávamál" and was typically used as a funeral dirge. The English translation is:

"Cattle die,  
Friends die,  
So, too, must you die.  
Though one thing  
Never dies;  
The fair fame one has earned.

Cattle die,  
Friends die,  
So, too, must you die.  
I know one,  
That never dies;  
Judgement of a dead man's life."

" _Norge"_ translates to "Norway" in Danish and Norwegian. I didn't italicize it because that is the name Denmark calls Norway more than anything. It's more of a name in this context than a noun.

" _Åh gud"_ translates to "Oh my God" in Danish.

" _Storebror Danmark"_ translates to "Big Brother Denmark" in Danish.

I understand that the most gruesome of the witch trials in Norway took place in Vardø in Finnmark; but for the sake of the story the one depicted in the story is further south since Finnmark is pretty much the definition of remote and isolated. That seclusion is part of the reason that the mass hysteria reached such heights and the death count was so high. It would take officials from Copenhagen in Denmark weeks to make their way into the far north of Finnmark, so local courts often took matters into their own hands. The superstition that the Gate to Hell resided in the Arctic and the close proximity to such evil contributed to widespread usage of witchcraft also fueled the fearful fire so to speak.

Midsummer's Eve, also known as St. John's Eve, is one of the biggest summer holidays celebrated in Europe, most notably among the Nordic and other northern nations such as Russia and the Baltics. It is the longest day of the year and is often linked to rebirth and new beginnings. Bonfires are burned and the entire town gathers to sing and partake in revelry. In Denmark the addition of burning the witch effigy was added as a tradition in the 1920s to symbolize the witch hunts in Denmark during the 14th and 15th centuries. Some Danes find the effigy burning to be in poor taste but many Danes view it as tradition and that it is all in good fun with no harm done.


End file.
